


Demonic Retribution

by Mraowface



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley fucking loves glitter, Decadently long baths, Fluff, Glitter Bombs, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Sad Aziraphale (Good Omens), The importance of Danish pastries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 18:27:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20679926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mraowface/pseuds/Mraowface
Summary: Aziraphale's favourite Danish pastries get nabbed from the local bakery.  Crowley swears retribution...





	Demonic Retribution

Aziraphale sighed as he carried the tea tray dejectedly into the bathroom. He’d felt _so good_ when he got up this morning.

Crowley, who was wallowing in the pink and foamy water of the bathtub, wriggled his way into a sitting position.

“What’s up, angel?”

“Oh, it’s… it’s nothing. Here’s your coffee.”

The pair had fallen into a charming Saturday morning routine (or afternoon routine, if leaving bed was ever a struggle) - Crowley had a three hour soak in the tub, while Aziraphale headed out into the world to source breakfast. Then Aziraphale would join Crowley in the bathroom, and they’d have a civilised breakfast together. They hadn’t quite worked out that an armchair and coffee table weren’t the usual suite to be found in a bathroom, but it seemed to work for them.

“Angel, come on. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“No, it’s silly. I shouldn’t be upset…”

“Yes dearest, but you _are_. Tell me what’s wrong, or I’ll splash you.” He made menacing waves with the water, destroying the artistic foam sculpture he’d been making. The best art was ephemeral anyway…

Aziraphale clutched his lapels protectively. “Well, ok. I went to the bakery, the one with that nice fluffy brioche, and I just fancied one or two of their apple Danish pastries. You know, they glaze them so nicely…” Aziraphale drifted off in a short reverie over pastries. “And I was in the middle of chatting with Mrs Singh, who started working there last summer…” Crowley nodded patiently. He knew Aziraphale’s storytelling style, and there was no hope of ever speeding him up or pushing him towards the point of the matter.

“Anyway, we were catching up on the local news” (read: gossiping like a pair of old biddies, thought Crowley) “when that awful man Gerald from the antiques shop pushed in, and _stole the last two apple Danishes.”_

Crowley maintained a tactful silence for a minute, and stroked Aziraphale’s hand. This was clearly troubling the angel deeply. Aziraphale mournfully poured himself a cup of Darjeeling.

“And not only that, but he took the last of the pecan plaits!”

Crowley inhaled deeply. This was worse than he’d thought. “So what did you get instead?”

“Some apple turnovers.” Aziraphale pointed sadly at his plate. “It’s just not the same.”

“Not as good?” Crowley would openly admit to being pastry illiterate.

“Not nearly as good, no. Over-sweet,” said Aziraphale, taking an unhappy bite.

Ok, this was not acceptable, thought Crowley. No mere Gerald would be permitted to make _his_ angel unhappily consume pastries. Something would have to be done.

  
****

  
The next Saturday, Crowley wallowed with style. And maybe a touch of apprehension.

When Aziraphale came in, it was in silence. He put the tea tray down on the table, settled into his armchair, and gazed at Crowley searchingly.

“I was at the bakery again today…”

“Mm-hmm? Did you get those pastries?” Crowley gestured at the exquisite apple danishes, laden with thinly sliced fruit and a glistening glaze. Aziraphale kept glancing at them.

“Yes, I did. _And_ I talked to Mrs Singh again.” The angel paused significantly. “She told me that _someone sent a parcel full of black glitter to that awful man Gerald’s antiques shop.”_ Accusing pause. “Black glitter, Crowley.”

“Black glitter?”

“Yes, Crowley. Do you have anything to say?”

“No? Why would I?” Crowley sipped his coffee, with the innocence of the falsely accused.

“Crowley, _you are sitting in a bath full of black glitter!”_

At this point the demon paused. Maybe the colour coordinating bath bomb had been a bad move.

“Maybe someone thought he deserved it? Glitter bombing his shop doesn’t sound like that bad an idea. Quite a good one, really.”

Aziraphale was glaring at Crowley with alarming intensity. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea after all?

“Close your eyes,” snapped Aziraphale. Crowley obeyed instinctively.

“Mouth open.”

There was a rustle of cellophane, and something dropped into his mouth. Aziraphale pushed the demon’s jaw shut. He crunched.

“Mmmph.” Chocolate covered espresso beans, the ones with the 85% dark chocolate, and the dusting of extra-bitter cocoa powder. “Mmmm…” He stretched out his legs and slid deeper into the tub, submerging all but his face.

Aziraphale delicately nibbled at his apple pastries, and sipped at his fragrant tea. Every once in a while, he’d feed Crowley another coffee bean. Life was delightful again.


End file.
